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archaeologist's bass rumble carried clearly in the damp air. Monk's head
swivelled towards him.
        'What can you remember, Jerome? Perhaps if you tried to—' Sophie began, but Terry
cut her off.
        'All
right, let's get this over with. Just show us.'
        Sophie
looked furious but people were already moving away, a cluster of uniforms
surrounding Monk's unmistakable figure.
        'This
is farcical,' Wainwright grumbled as we trudged after them, boots squelching on
the boggy moor. 'I don't believe that creature has any intention of telling us
anything. He's making fools of us.'
        'It
might help if you'd stop antagonizing him,' Sophie said, still angry.
        'You
can't afford to show weakness to creatures like that. They need to know who's
in charge.'
        'Really?'
Sophie's voice was dangerously sweet. 'I tell you what. You don't tell me my
job, and I won't tell you how to dig holes.'
        The
archaeologist glared at her. 'I'll be sure to pass on your thoughts to DCS Simms,'
he said, before walking on ahead.
        'Prick,'
Sophie said under her breath, though not so softly that he couldn't hear. She
glanced at me. 'What?'
        'I
didn't say anything.'
        She
smiled wryly. 'You didn't have to.'
        I
shrugged. 'If you want to fall out with the whole task force, don't let me stop
you.'
        'Sorry,
but it's just so bloody frustrating. What's the point of me being here
if they won't let me do my job properly? And as for Terry Connors . . .' She
sighed and shook her head. 'They're handling this all wrong. We shouldn't just
be letting Monk lead us around by the nose, not without pushing him for some
indication where the graves are. How's he going to find them again if he can't
remember any landmarks?'
        'You
think he's lying?'
        'Hard
to say. He seems vague one minute and certain the next. He's acting like he
knows where he's going now but it's a hell of a long way for anyone to carry a
body.' She frowned, staring at where Monk's pale head stood out amongst the
dark uniforms up ahead. 'I'm going to have a wander round. I'll catch you up.'
        She
struck off back towards the track that led to Black Tor. I could understand her
doubts, but there was nothing I could do about them. The going became more
difficult as we headed further into the moor. The rain-soaked peat sucked at
our boots while the heather and long marsh grass snagged our legs. Monk was
struggling more than ever, giving lie to the myth of how at home he was out
here.
        Several
times he stumbled and tripped, snarling at the guards as they steadied him.
        I
noticed that Roper had dropped back and was talking on his radio. He kept his
voice down, but as I approached the wind carried snatches of his words over to
me.
        '. . .
not confident, sir . . .Yes. . . yes . . . Of course, sir. I'll keep you
informed.'
        He
ended the call as he saw me. The 'sir' had sounded ominous, and it didn't take
a genius to guess he'd been reporting back to Simms. I wondered if Terry knew.
        'Enjoying
the walk, Dr Hunter?' The DC grinned, falling in step beside me. 'Turning into
quite a marathon, isn't it?'
        There
was something about the man that grated. He couldn't be blamed for the rat-like
teeth, but his grin was just a little too ready and too sycophantic for me to
trust.
        'The
fresh air does me good.'
        He
bobbed his head, chuckling as though I'd cracked an after- dinner joke. 'A
little too much of it for my taste, but there you go. So what do you think of
Monk? He's something, isn't he? Face like a bloody Picasso.'
         You're
no oil painting yourself. 'How did he get the bruises? Was he in a fight?'
        'Not
exactly.' Roper's grin broadened, but his eyes were shrewd as they stared at
Monk's back. 'He kicked off on one last night and had to be
"restrained". Almost made us cancel the whole thing. One of his party
pieces, apparently, having a